The Featherly Bonds of Brotherhood
by Melda Sila
Summary: He had never been so lonely. Broken down inside, he searched for a reason to go on, and could find only one thing could compel him: he had made a promise to his comrade, his brother, and he was going to keep it at any cost.  No slash, just bros
1. Prologue

Prologue

He couldn't take the spinning anymore. The world around him was nothing but a haze; objects in his vision were speckled as he stumbled over the concrete floor. All he wanted was something to collapse on, but he was never going to make it to the top bunk. Blurry-eyed and weak beyond his own comprehension, he fell to the floor in a lifeless pile. Nothing stopped the pain, though. It reached from his smooth ebony flippers all the way down through his webbed feet. If it was a steady ache, or throbbing, or any sort of pain other than this, he could have taken it easily. His advanced training in the military had prepared him for torture, pain, and anything else the enemy could throw at him. The spasms kept coming, though, stabbing him in the groan, piercing his side until he cried out in agony. There was something different about this wound, this pain, something that was destroying more than just his flesh. He could've sworn that the feathers were being peeled from his skin, scraped off layer by layer. Between the piercings and his skin on fire, the only sensation in his entire being was that of utter anguish. All he wanted was to faint, maybe even die. Anything to no longer feel his body lay helpless against the icy pavement. He was out of control, and he despised himself for it.

The air of the room was still thick and foggy, smelling of same odor that had filled his nostrils minutes before. It was a wretched stank, a mixture between must and rotten garbage. It made taking in oxygen difficult at best. He could barely tell he was in his own headquarters anymore, between the scents around him and the spasms that served to make his involuntary shudders of pain more intense. The presence was still there. He could feel them in the air, breathing in his precious oxygen. A malicious grin was plastered on their hideous face, succumbing to the beauty of their magnificent creation. This someone made the room fill with darkness that was unfathomable to the penguin. He had never felt such terror in his life, nothing that consumed him, that possessed his entire being the way this stranger had. This wasn't just some crazed animal, gone berserk in the zoo. The penguin knew that this person didn't want to merely hurt his physical body, no matter how long he lingered there, hovering over him, watching him experience pain unlike he had ever felt before. No, this creature was fighting for something much more maniacal, something of a much higher value. He wanted Skipper's soul.


	2. Separated

Chapter One:

Separated

"Where do you suppose Skippah went, K'walski?" Private chirped as he stumbled alongside the uniquely svelte penguin, waddling as fast as he could to keep up with him. The young penguin was still clutching tightly to the snow cone he had retrieved from the human vendor that was selling them in the park. It had become their post-practice ritual since arriving in New York for the two penguins to cool down by taking a stroll to the vendor and breaking into the small trailer that held the materials hostage.

"Well Private, according to my calculations he should still be in his normal post-drill status." The gaunt penguin quipped, taking a slip of his own chill-inducing snack.

"You mean curled up in the bunker, watching Julien dance in his habitat?"

"Indeed, but we can never let him know we know. His fantasies of annihilation are one of his few comforts in life."

"That and his mirror and mustache." The younger penguin quipped as he craned his head toward the older penguin, shaking his head. "I just don't understand why everything has to be about violence though. I think we could get a lot more done with diplomacy."

Kowalski paused for a moment as they reached the concrete barrier around their habitat, the rusted metal poles extending into the sky towards the heavens, hiding the pool of crystal clear water that lay behind it. "Perhaps, Private. But it's not the penguin way." He winked, propping his hands up for Private to spring over the wall. Private slurped down the last of his slushy, tossed it in the trash can, and sprinted full speed before flipping onto the penguins arm. Immediately, Kowalski pushed into the young ones feet, and with the momentum of a volleyball he flew over the barricade to his home. It felt fresh every time he felt the wind fly through his flippers, and finally crashed into the water with a sloppy splash that felt like a kiss from nature.

Kowalski followed behind, grabbing onto the rod that connected the bars at the top of the barrier, pulling himself up and over the wall, succumbing to the lure of his instinct. He sliced through the waters with cutting precision, slipping into a barrel roll before pushing off the side of the wall and jumping through the air. He landed next to Private on the small concrete platform that completed their "home", as far as any human was concerned. Flicking of the remaining drops of water that coated his feathers, he couldn't help but feel satisfied with a job well done. "Time for some well-deserved rest and relaxation," He huffed as he pushed aside the decoy food bowl, slipping down the ladder that led to the headquarters. Private followed behind slowly, waiting for the tall penguin to hit the floor of the base before sliding down into the heart of their command center. As he hit the pavement, he heard a grieved gasp slip from the beak of his comrade. He turned to see what had captured Kowalski's attention but was blocked by the elder penguin's size. "K'walski, what is it?" He asked, planting his wing into his shoulder blade. "What happened?" He asked, exasperated by his own lack of understanding.

"I… It's…" The penguin stumbled forward speechless at the spectacle, clearing Privates view of the object that lay in front of them. Private had to glare at the mangled black subject for several seconds before he even realized what, or rather who, was lying in front of them. "Skippah!" He howled, rushing to the side of the leader. He lay mangled, face turned downward with his flippers spread out as if he was hugging the concrete he had fallen on. Private turned his head towards himself and Kowalski, begging the leader for his attention.

"Skipper, say something, please," Private shook his body, but it was void of any true sort of life. His eyes were open, but were so far from the place they inhabited. It was if Skipper's eyes had been turned to glass and contained nothing more than black pearls that reflected Privates own features back to him. For several moments, the only movement between the two penguins who were perched in a kneeling position next to their leader was shallow, raspy breathing. It was as if time had stopped, and the only thing either of them could do was merely exist, trying to put the pieces of everything together quickly, too quickly to actually make sense of it.

"What's wrong with him Kowalski? Is he dead?" Private finally managed to whimper. The last three words were so strong and biting that they made the young penguins head spin. It was hard for the penguin, who was still so young and innocent to comprehend this horror, this event that could be so tragic and real. Was this what it was all about? All 0f the stories about Manfredi and Johnson, everything Skipper had told them, was this what it was always going to come to?

Kowalski struggled to choke down his own thoughts, fears, even tears as he turned to Private. "I… I don't know Private." For once, the intelligent bird was silenced by something that had entrenched him more than science, the unknown. Finally the penguin snapped out of his own dazed state, coming back to reality and doing the next _logical_ step, like he should have done sooner. He leaned over Skipper, checking his neck for a pulse, assessing the damage done to the bird, and staring into those somber eyes that had taken his younger friend captive. He pulled back from the body and breathed in a sigh of relief, turning to the Private and giving him the hope he desperately desired, and in another way altogether, needed.

"He's not dead. All of his vital functions are performing as normal. His heart rate is elevated, but no more so than simple combat with any intruder would permit." Kowalski tilted his head sideways, looking for any other damages done to the leader, but nothing appeared bloodied, battered or bruised. "I don't understand why he looks so…" The penguin stopped short of saying the word, biting his beak. He couldn't even utter the word, let it set in when it was an exaggeration at best.

Private brightened instantly, his eyes glimmering in his normal naïve fashion that embodied his spirit in every way. "So he's going to be ok then?" He offered back.

Kowalski hesitated to say anything. He was a bird of science; matters of the heart were fragile and easily tore away at individuals with even the smaller shred of anguish. This was especially true for the young bird in front of him, who was holding his bruised heart, asking for bandage to cover the wound that lay in front of him. "I don't know, Private," he whispered, hanging his head. "I can't confidently confirm or deny any physical state until I thoroughly check him over. We need to get him on the table."

"We can do that," he offered, still hoping for his own battered organ to be recovered from the pile it lay in on the floor. Private grabbed a blanket and pillow of the bottom bunk, making a suitable resting place for the incapacitated leader. Together, the two of them managed to get their heavy-set leader on top of the cold metal table. Kowalski positioned him with his eyes, still open and haunted, face up, staring at the steel roof of their simple headquarters. His wings lay at his side, still and flat, without even a trace of movement.

Private fidgeted nervously, watching Kowalski as he busied himself looking over the casing of their beloved friend. He couldn't tell what the lean penguin was doing, except that he took great care in his every movement. Kowalski would gently lift one flipper, do a full sweep of one side of the white belly and return the flipper softly to its place of origin. He did this on the other side, then came to the front of the table, gently turning Skippers head one way, then the other, with movements that applied a certain amount of torture with their lack of quickness that he was accustomed to.

For the ten minutes Kowalski looked him over, Private wanted nothing more than to look away, to breathe in any sort of stimulation that wasn't the faint fishy breath of his commander or the meticulous penguin who now did this and that with his unresponsive body. At last, the moments of silence ended when Kowalski stepped backwards away from Skipper, surveying him from afar. He scratched his beak with his flipper, unsure how to proceed.

"Well, from what I can tell, I, uh…" The penguin stalled, not sure how to explain any of his observations to the stout penguin who eagerly anticipated his diagnosis.

"Kowalski, what _is_ it?" Private seized his side, his flippers digging into the sides of the avian that towered over him.

"I have no clue." Kowalski shut his eyes, fighting back tears. "There's no explanation, Private. There's nothing I can do." He reopened his crystalline black orbs, which were welling in a way that he couldn't explain, couldn't express, no matter how much he wanted to think it or talk it or figure it away.

Private's flippers fell away from Kowalski, dumbfounded by the non-answer. He swallowed hard, unwilling to accept the answer that had been handed down. "Kowalski, how can we do nothing? There's got to be _something—"_

"Private, there is nothing, NOTHING, I can do for him!" Kowalski turned, his eyes glittered as he breathed in, trying to suffocate the drops that were begging to fall, though they were stubbornly being held in. It was the first time since the young penguin had met him that he had ever raised his voice at him, though it was frail and breaking.

The scientist turned, his one beloved truth failing him for the first time in his existence. "He's not there, Private. His body is there, but he's gone."


	3. Broken Bonds

Chapter Two:

Broken Bonds

It didn't take long for the zoo to learn about Skipper's condition. It was a matter of hours before Marlene and Julien showed up in their headquarters to try and help them solve what was wrong with their feathered leader. Marlene was sullen, sitting in one of the plastic preschool chairs the penguins had swiped from the kids zoo learning center, staring at the blanket-faced Skipper. The furry mammal shook her head, puzzled at the curious state of the penguin in front of her, stunned at her capacity to do nothing to help him.

"And this is exactly as you found him?" She asked, pointing to the still penguin.

"Well, we moved him a little, for dignity's sake," Private offered, folding his flippers over themselves repeatedly, kneading them into his own arms.

Marlene stroked the velvet soft fur on her chin, puzzled by the state of the penguin in front of her. Skipper was not a safe penguin by any means, but he had always been capable of taking care of himself. For him to end up in their headquarters, bruised and beady-eyed, on the brink of death, seemed not just bizarre but downright heart stopping. Kowalski was making quick work of the battered penguin with gauze strips and ointment, taking care of the superficial wounds while Marlene surveyed the inexplicable disappearance of his presence. A more sinister feel was about the penguin's lair now, like a piece of fish heavily battered with flour, only it felt more like a poison had been slipped in at the last moment. The air felt thin, with an unusually sweet, soft smell, like that of incense, drifted through the once fish-reeked habitat. Pulling all of the courage inside her together, Marlene managed to push past her predication of the penguin's lifelessness and walk at a crawls-pace over to the leader, surrendering her right paw to his shoulder. Upon closer inspection of the bird, it was all she could do to fall into choked sobs. His eyes were open and stared directly through her, piercing the back of her skill with their body-chilling emptiness. It would have felt safer to look into a bottomless pit than those dark, blank eyes that sent ice cold feeling through her being. Only now did she realize, though Kowalski had confirmed that all of his vitals were good, and he was alive, how far gone he was from them.

"So what is being wrong with the bossy penguin?" Julien questioned, popping up on the other side of the metal table. He grabbed the penguin's flipper, flicking it back and forth as if he were a stuffed animal to be played with rather than the dangerous military strategist he was.

Even though it was an innocent gesture of ignorance, Marlene still felt heat rising in her chest as the anger poured out of her heart for the penguin leader who had shown her much loyalty in kindness in his actions. "Stop that!" She finally burst, smacking the lemur's hand away from the rubbery black wing.

"It's alright Marlene, he can't feel it anyway." Kowalski sighed, defeated in his hopes for a diagnosis of the penguin. He pressed his back against the gritty concrete wall behind the table and slumped forward, his feather scraping against the rough surface as hid slid to the ground. Finally, the penguin slammed his tailored flippers to the ground in fury. "It just doesn't make sense. What could be so powerful of a drug, or even a natural event perhaps, that would leave him alive yet in this state of utter lifelessness?"

"I don't think he wants to play today, maybe come back tomorrow?" Julien offered, walking around to the penguin and patting him on the shoulder. "He should be all better by then, just like when my momma use to make me all better in the jungle." Kowalski lifted his face, his beak barely an inch away from Julien's pointed black nose.

"Julien, I do not think that time will cure this illness. This is something radically unseen to zoo animals, something not even human, perhaps."

"But that would mean a human would have had to find our headquarters, and our mission would be compromised," Private finally piped in, letting his flippers fall to the side as he waddled closer to Skipper. He stood next to Marlene, staring at the black, empty wells that lay in front of him, wishing he had an answer for their dilemma. He was only a young soldier though, with little experience to offer in this strange new development.

"Either way, we have to find Rico and let him know. He's going to find out sooner or later."

"Waddawh! Skippawh!" The shriek came shortly after Private's voiced concern echoed through the small room, as Rico squawked from the direction of the makeshift hanger they had created for their car. Rico glided out from behind fish plaque that guarded their entrance, pulling himself upright just before reaching the backsides of Marlene and Private, though he fell over on them regardless reaching for his leader. "Wadappan?" He wheezed, touching the lifeless fin of his almost-equally violent comrade.

"It appears as though Skipper has become comatose, from what we do not know, but he is alive." Kowalski answered, his voice deep and hollow, filled with pained memories of his time with him.

"Awno!" Rico cried out, bringing Skipper into his arms and jerking him violently off the table.

"Rico, don't do that! We don't know what it could do to him—"

"Let him be, Private. There's a reason for his state of mind." Kowalski didn't even look up to register the confused stare he knew was coming from the young soldier. Rather, he took a deep breath, knowing that he could only explain the crazed penguin's fears with a story. "You see Private, long before you even knew about Arctic Command, or about Rico, Skipper and myself, something happened to Skipper. " Though Kowalski had full faith in his leader to take care of himself, Rico's fear laid deeper inside his mind.

"Rico and I had just recently enlisted when we were sent in on top secret mission to scout an enemy base in the wild jungles of Panama with Skipper. It was our mission to retrieve any information about the base that we could and report back to Command." Kowalski paused, checking Private to see if he really was listening to him. Of course he was, staring back at him, eagerly waiting the explanation for the still-sobbing penguin's cries. Kowalski tipped his head in appreciation for his attention, and returned once again to the story.

"We had successfully infiltrated the base at Skipper's command and had managed to retrieve both a map of the base as well as intel on the general terrain and capabilities of the enemy. We had all but conquered the base in our mind, and were about to live when they released their actual weapon of destruction." Kowalski paused to catch his breath, noting that Rico had stopped sobbing and was now sitting protectively at Skipper's feet like a pet that would attack at any sign of distress. He could tell just by the solemn look in his eyes that his story wasn't lost on him, and he was attentively listening, along with the rest of the creatures in their base.

It was becoming more challenging to speak now, though, as the terrors replayed in Kowalski's mind. He felt his throat closing up from the thick mucus that was piling up as he swallowed again and again, trying to bring words out of his mouth. When he finally opened his mouth, it felt dry and hollow, and he had to close his eyes to keep the images from dancing in front of him.

"They released these creatures, innocent looking enough. They were tiny itty-bitty baby frogs, barely even noticeable." Kowalski kneaded his flippers into one another, resembling the small creatures with his tiny hands folding into one another, doing his best to show their insignificant size. "But Skipper saw them and knew right away that they weren't just frogs. We would later come to find out that they were genetically enhanced mutant poisonous dart frogs. Their venom had been altered not to kill, but to torture those they poisoned with hallucinogenic nightmares and a near deadly skin infection that peels off the epidermic tissue and leaves its victims ripe for infection."

"Well that sounds positively horrible!" Private cried, covering his beak as if to block out the non-existent threat.

Rico was wimpering again, curled into a ball next to the table where Skipper lay, captured into another world. Private had toddled over to Rico in the meantime, patting him on the back and soothing him with reassurances. Kowalski knew he wasn't the only one re-living nightmares from the past but he felt convicted to finish the story now that he had made it this far. He merely nodded his head in acknowledgement to the boys words, and pressed on.

"It was too late for us to escape from them, so Skipper did the unthinkable."

Rico startled grumbling now, low and angry, shouting incoherent babble at the ceiling, though it didn't help anyone or thing now. "Donna wanna ear." He mumbled, stuffing his flippers into his ears. Kowalski was on the verge of crying, but his couldn't lose his composure now. "He flung himself at them, all twenty. He covered them, pulling the stray ones back in, making sure they couldn't escape. They gnawed on his stomach. Bit him all over. Still, he didn't move from it until he knew that we were safe. He suffocated them under his own belly fat to save our lives."

A gasp escaped from Private. He stopped stroking Rico long enough for his eyes to take on the circumference of a half dollar coin, his blue eyes wild with surprise. "But Skipper always finds a way out, Kowalski. How did you manage to escape, and how did he survive?"

Privates words snapped the scientist back the moment, back to everything he couldn't face on his own, just like he was back in Panama. "Rico saved us. He used dynamite to create a hole in the ground that led to the sewer system underneath the enemy base. He managed to drag Skipper down, and I followed behind. We managed to make it out, but that was only the beginning of the nightmare."

"_Jungle!_"

Kowalski nodded at Rico's wheezy declaration, confirming the horrors. "It was the jungle that almost killed us. Dragging Skipper's limp body through it, listening to his screams at night. Waiting for either rescue or death." He shuddered, then pushed past it. "Finally we were found ten miles south of the enemy base, managing to survive for twelve days off rain water and insects. We thought for sure we were going to join Manfredi or Johnson, but they found us." His eyes turned to Skipper now, tracing the frame of the penguin in his mind, just as still as it was that long time ago.

"They managed to save Skipper by drawing out the poison from the frogs. It took him months to recover, but he managed to survive. Arctic Command was hesitant to keep him as our leader after that, but after exhibiting that his faculties were still in prime condition—albeit he was a bit more paranoid now—they eventually let him retain his status."

The pieces started to fit for Private, who was staring in marvel at the leader who lay at his side. He always told him stories about Manfredi and Johnson, but never his own horrors, escapes from death and miraculous recoveries. He should have known considering how much danger they had experienced together in the brief period of time he known him, but the full weight of his being had never hit him until now.

Even though his leader was off in some distant land of unconsciousness, he felt closer to his leader just hearing about his strength. It gave him courage, knowing that he had escaped death before. Peering over at Kowalski, Private could only imagine the scientist was calculating the odds against it—he was clutching abacus now, flipping the small red beads back and forth. The silence was broken by Julien, who the penguins had all but forgotten was still in their headquarters.

"So, is the bossy penguin dead then?" He asked from his perch on top of the leader's belly. He was poking him now, playing with his eyelids and searching for signs of life in his own naïve way.

"Julien!" Marlene screamed, this time forcing him to the ground with a loud smack as her paw cross his nose. She gasped and stumbled backwards, shocked at her own capacity for malice. Though Julien was insensitive and perhaps even cruel at times, he was about as guilty as a child who didn't understand his own actions. Compelled by this, she helped the lemur up, softly whispering an apology to the lemur.

Kowalski paused at the sudden outburst, distracted from his calculations. "It's best if we stay strong together, now that we've lost him."

"Kowalski, you believe he'll come back to us, right?" Private asked.

The scientist muddled this over silently, considering the competing thoughts in his mind before finally whispering, "I don't know, Private. I hope so. He was a brother to all of us."

Private couldn't stop the feeling that was rising up in his being, filling him warm sensation that made his body tensed. His feathers standing at edge and ruffled, his beak curved in a sharp frown, he was convicted by the penguin's words. Fear and cowardice were no way to be acting. Skipper sacrificed himself countless times for them, had tested them, made them prove that they could function without him for this very reason. Yet now, despite their training and everything they had been through, they were still falling apart. Though he was young, Private knew was had to be done.

"Kowalski, you're right. He was a brother to us. And you never give up on a brother. We owe it to Skipper to bring him back, starting right now." He stood up, young and old at the same time, firm in cause and belief. Nothing was going to stop him from bringing his leader back to life.


	4. The Promise

Chapter Three:

The Promise

Private pushed himself up and brushed off the muddy dirt that had invaded his beak. A slight misplacement of his foot had led him to floor of the park, which was still recovering after a heavy spring rain. It had nourished the park, with its trees growing tall and beautiful as their summer leaves bloom and came out from hiding, flowers were sprouting with little buds peeking through green popsicle stick stems in beds guarded by stony watchman.

Passing an eye to the lagoon that had been the source of many adventures, Private noted the abundance of summer animals, presumably from the heavy spring rain fever that had occurred in the last few weeks. Little goslings and ducks mucked about, their tiny pumpkin colored webbed feet thick in the mud both inside the lagoon and surrounding it. In the middle of the life he could still see Eggy with his siblings, charging around, throwing out orders which his brothers and sister obeyed with precise actions. Their commando skills were getting better, as they could now actually form ranks and even barrel over a couple of the younger ducklings around them.

Eggy and Skipper. He remembered his leader's cruel parenting skills well as his little feathered friend that he was so fond of was being tossed around like a beach ball in their headquarters. Skipper was a hard leader, but now look at Eggy, who was starting his own operation as if he had been laid and hatched by him. Private waved with a slight smile as he passed the fledgling and his siblings, passing on helping them save the lagoon from apparently-overbearing cattails that were waging war on their home. Instead he rounded the lagoon and headed for his favorite place of respite, the tree where he had helped take down the red squirrel. He always felt cautious here, but it also made he feel like a hero. He had proven he was no longer just a hatchling fresh of the academy, but a sharp soldier bent on being a hero.

He winced, staring at the tall, stocky tree and was reminded just how painful the climb was. No thumbs to make it easy, no smooth surface to glide over. There were really only two ways up for the bird, either being catapulted up by one of Kowalski's maniacal inventions, or wrapping both wings around one branch, pulling his full body weight up and then hoping there was a branch close enough by to repeat the process until he was satisfied with his height in the tree. It was a lengthy process that required planning from the ground before making any moves, but it worked. It was actually kind of therapeutic being able to feel strong enough to do something on his own without being constantly reminded of his size, his youth or general squeamishness . He knew in his heart that he was strong, and capable of what he put his mind to. It was what got him in to Arctic Command to begin with, and what kept him going now even in the worst of times.

After plotting his course, Private began the strenuous task of lifting himself up to the first branch. It was always easier after this first part, but often the branches were so far off the ground he had to launch himself up and hope he reached it and reacted in time to make it. It often took him several tries, but it was well worth it in his mind. His choice of branch was slightly higher than normal, but he figured he has enough experience under his wing to reach it now. He dug his webbed feet into the most solid patch of grass he could find, steadying his body for the closest experience to flying he ever had. Taking in a deep breath, he pushed hard against the damp surface and sprung upward. He latched onto to his choice target, wrapping one flipper and then the other around the slick branch. He hadn't thought about the surface of the trees as much as that of the Earth, and he tugged tight as he felt his momentum start to shift downward again. By the time he had wrapped his flippers around though, it was too to being the tedious work of pulling up his unevenly distributed body, and he felt himself tumbling back down until his posterior and left side hit the ground. A burst of pain ripped through the little penguin and he cringed as the transfer of energy left his whole left side throbbing, as well as a new addition of lightheadedness mixed in just so mother nature made her lesson clear.

Private hobbled over as best he could, sliding into the mud that mixed in with sparse green patches of grass that inhabited the base of the tree. There was no going back up there today, his choice of branch had been too high up for a mess up like that and he was more than likely going to end up having to either ask for help or stagger back as best he could. His feet seemed ok enough as he prodded his six pointy toes with his right flipper, feeling them for injuries. Landing tilted on his side had saved him from the more challenging injury of a sprained foot, but it wasn't going to make the trip back much more enjoyable.

The stocky penguin pushed himself against the tree, wedging himself between two roots that spread outward from the trunk, looking for nourishment. If it was looking for physical substance, there was plenty of that. Empathy, on the other hand, was another story. The tree would have to take care of itself, find sunlight, protection from human axes. It was on its own.

The thought gnawed at Private, Skipper laying in his bunk at home, physically kept by Kowalski's newest machine that fed some liquid substance down his beak and into his stomach, keeping him alive as long as his brain stayed functioning.

They trio had managed to break into the vets office with the vegetable penguin and do a CAT scan, but it didn't help Kowalski figure out anything new. A week later they tried breaking in again to some other tests, but Alice caught them off guard and put them right back in their habitat without giving them anything to eat for almost a week. She was still trying to contact the mayor to get them moved to Hoboken, but he wouldn't listen because of how popular they were.

None of it mattered to him though. Not the inconclusive tests, or the threat of being found out, or even not having dinner for weeks. Those were all things he could do something about, things he could fix. Kowalski would find more tests, Alice would let go of their crimes eventually, and they could always scrounge up enough food to eat. Skipper was the problem. No matter what anyone said or did, nothing affected him. His personality, his body gestures, his voice, the way he bossed them around, all of it was gone. Now he was just a blob of tissue fat laying comfortably, alive but so dead. Private had tried everything he could think of, and even things that didn't make sense to try and get him back. Screaming, cursing, pushing, shoving, kicking, taunting, blaring music, having different animals visit and talk to him. Through it all he was silent, conveying nothing but the most deadly weapon in any enemy's arsel: control. He wasn't there, yet he stilled controlled their life. He controlled their schedules, habits, attention, resources, sympathy, he even controlled their thoughts. Private knew it wasn't what Skipper would want, yet they still lived as if he were there commander. He wasn't sure why he was even so upset about it, because he wanted him to be. It was easy have Skipper tell him what to do, when to do it and even how to do it. All he had to do was be a soldier, enact what they were taught and fight for their cause. Now, he had to think about everything he did and why he was doing it. He was miserable at it, too. He tried talking to Kowalski and figuring out how to help, but Kowalski was so consumed with finding a scientific cure that nothing else mattered to him. Rico spent his time moping around the headquarters, watching TV once in a while just to numb everything he felt. And here he was, trying to think his way out, just like Kowalski.

_That will never do. Skipper needs someone to be there for him for once. We've got to start acting like a team again. What would Skipper do if he were here, and it was one of us?_

Private mused as he rubbed his left flipper, thinking of the fall and how badly he knew he was strong enough to reach that branch. What was stopping him? He was young, but he was well trained, intelligent and capable of getting up there.

_Nothing but myself I suppose. Which means the only answer is to reach it._ His eyes narrowed, looking up at the tree above him that mocked him with denial of shelter, save on its conditional protection on the ground where he sat in the muck and filth. _Not any longer. As long as I live, so will Skipper. Brother, I'll bring you back._


	5. Trouble Rising

Chapter Four:

Trouble Rising

Private hadn't expected it to be so easy, convincing his teammates to let him take charge. It seemed as though they were as lost as he was without a leader, and even he was better than nothing. It had been little missions for the first couple weeks, helping Bernie find peanuts when he ran out or hiding Julien's shenanigans from Alice. Then slowly, it got better. Three days ago they had helped save Rico's roach friends from a runaway taxi cab that had left Manhattan and unintentionally taken them with it. Rico noticed when they hadn't showed up for poker night and was scared of losing his only other friends. It had progressed to today, where now they were restructuring the tunnel system from a break-in the night before when Hans had tried to come and seek his revenge on Skipper for defeating Blowhole and sending him back to Hoboken.

Private felt useful now, as though a new chapter was turning for them. Maybe soon they would even be able to go and find a cure for Skipper, or at least figure out what happened to him. He still believed in his promise to Skipper, and knew that they were going to find something to save him, he just didn't know what. The penguin didn't realize how deep in thought he was until he heard Kowalski squeal as a flamethrower burst out and licked the edges of their flippers. He recoiled by knocking them both to the ground and throwing a grenade at the misplaced flamethrower, a clear set up for them from Hans' raid the night before.

He stood up and helped the older scientist to his feet, brushing off the tunnel dirt and smiling at him.

"Careful on that one K'walski, looks like he's still got a mess of booby traps about here."

"It would appear so. Hopefully our restructuring will improve our defenses and this won't happen again. I just don't know how he got through the tunnel the first time, though. It was as if he was a ghost and just turned them off." He stroked his flipper against the underside of his beak, trying to solve one more of the many mysteries of the world.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much, just keep setting them up so he can't come back. The last thing we need is someone stealing Skippah and not having any clues in helping him get better." Private concluded firmly, handing Kowalski another mechanical piece to set up some contraption. He noticed the grimace on the elder penguin's face though, the sad eyes staring back into his soul. Kowalski turned towards the wall and started wrenching a bolt into the wall through holes on the side of the spherical object, distancing himself from the obvious tension. It was then the Private realized what this all meant to Kowalski, him taking charge and helping him restructure the tunnels. He was giving up hope on Skipper. He didn't think they could cure him. Even though there was an immediate visceral reaction in his body that craved grabbing his wrench and slamming it into the side of his head, he took a breath. He was never one to think ill of others, but giving up on a comrade was so counter-intuitive it brought out a side of him he never really knew was there. Kowalski wasn't just dismissing the Lunacorns or teasing his naïve personality, but outright subordinating the team he served. This was not something that was just impermissible, but unforgivable.

"K'Walski, do you really believe that Skippah is beyond hope?"

The older penguin turned to him, startled by the penguins question. It demanded so much of him to give an honest opinion that didn't require analysis, but personal feeling. He managed to open his beak, but all he could do was stutter a nonsensical whisper into the air as he faced his own personhood. "Private, I, that's just, it's so…" he breathed in shallow breaths until he finally ran out of oxygen, slipping to the ground and staring back at the boy who had taken command in such a short time of arriving.

He stared at his flipper which lay lifeless at his side, simply being. It's smooth rubbery surface tingled in the dark tunnel, crumbs of dust and rock occasionally passing by on its black tarred highway of movement looking for an escape from their gloomy home. He felt the bone running through it giving it structure and a solid form for existence, the muscles that wrapped around and connecting deep under the glossy skin covering giving it a fleshed out shape, and finally the epidermis which coated the small arm in truth of the creatures existence. It was pulsing slightly, pulling away from the connection it had in his shoulder where it intersected with the rest of his being. Slowly it was drooping now, away from him, pulling him down the ground. He couldn't escape his fate. First it would be his flipper, one day just slipping off and darting off away from his body. Shortly after he'd lose a toe or two, one here and one there, taken off by the cruel pranks of the world toying which only toyed with his pain. Then, someday, when he was ready, the rest of him would slip into a peaceful existence, melting back with the Earth he came from and returning to his natural existence as nothing more than molecules floating around in universe to large for him to ever see the ends of.

No, Skipper was not coming back. Never. But would Private listen? He knew he wouldn't, so full of heart-wrenching hope, not use to the heartache that the world would offer with its constant pushes and pulls. It wasn't always like this, he knew. It wasn't for him, anyway. It would be piece by piece, slowly over time Private would understand that the world was not his friend, nor was it his, or Skippers. The world was going to eat him like a leopard seal and spit out his bones.

"K'walski, are you in there?" Private was kneeling in front of him now. As best as a penguin could kneel, anyway. Life was cruel indeed.

"Let's just finish these tunnels, Private." He spoke softly, pushing himself up with the very flipper that had disintegrated in front of him and turning back to his wrench to work once again.

"Alright, but you didn't answer my question." Private accused.

"There's no right answer, Private." Kowalski responded.

The little penguin was caught off guard by that and dropped it for the time being, also returning to their work on the little tunnel. It would be several more hours before they finished, spending the rest of the day in awkward silence. Private hadn't noticed too much since he was preoccupied with the strange markings that filled their tunnels. It seemed like some human language mixed with small pictures that meant nothing to him, but clearly had some significance. Many of them looked like little brush strokes that had been painted recently into the cavern walls as some kind of warning. He couldn't make them out for anything readable, but he figured if it was of concern Kowalski would mention it. At least, he thought he would. The penguin hadn't completely given up on life yet, so he figured at least he cared enough about them to save them under serious circumstances. Then again, he had been spacing out the whole time too.

"Kowalski, can you make out anything on the walls? They're all over." When Private said all over it was a mild statement in comparison to the amount of graffiti Hans did the night before. Nearly every wall had several hundred markings that were painted, etched and written into it. Private would have guessed something of this magnitude taking weeks to complete, not to mention the insanity required for the tedious work associated with the marks.

"I'm not sure Private. It appears to be some kind of ancient Sanskrit text, but I can't make out any specific characters. I would guess that it there probably of Mayan origin."

Private cast a confounded glance towards Kowalski, questioning, "I thought you couldn't read, Kowalski, how do you know what these are?"

"Oh I can't read English, Private. I'm well aware of different forms of ancient hieroglyphics though. The pictures make all the difference."

The stocky penguin wasn't sure how pictures were any different from the human characters they were surrounded by, but if helped who was he to complain? Kowalski did possess a mysterious intellect with his knowledge of math that required so many human-seeming characters and numbers. If he could comprehend those symbols, maybe it wasn't such a far-fetched concept.

"If they're Mayan is there a way you could research them to figure out what they mean?"

"I suppose I could, I'll just take a picture of them on my smartphone-" He grinned, pulling out the small black phone from behind his back and snapping a couple photos, "and analyze them when we get home."

Kowalski brightened up for a while after that, walking with Private as they made their way through the tunnel cleaning and taking pictures. It felt close to old times, or as close at it had been. It wasn't until they reached the entrance to their tunnel that something started to alarm Private about the graphics around him. At the entrance to their base there was an illustration similar to the other ones, but this one was more explicit. It wasn't English, but it was a caricature that highly resembled a penguin. At least, that was his fear with the round shape, partially black and white with tips of orange. It was faced sideways with its beak pointed towards a black creature that depicted a ghostly presence hanging above him. The penguin seemed to be suspended in air, not held up by anything or firmly grounded in any substance, merely caught in between two worlds; that of the black specter, and ours.

"Kowalski, what do you make of this?" He gestured with his flipper towards the scene, only to be returned with a startled yelp. Turning around he saw Kowalski stuck in a puddle of black goop that he hadn't noticed before. It seemed almost like tar, but was far more lucid and resemble a consistency more like juice or soda, which left residue but wasn't quite as gloppy as a thicker substance would. "What in the world is that?"

"It appears to be some sort of poisonous liquid substance. Perhaps what Skipper ingested that left him in his state." Kowalski dipped his flipper in the liquid, being careful not to inhale the substance, but rather examining it cautiously. "I would guess it's some kind of neurotoxin that may have infected his nervous system. That would explain the lack of reciprocity in communication and the stoic behavior in his body. This may be our best bet in identifying how to cure him."

"Oh Kowalski that's wonderful!" Private jeered, lunging forward to hug Kowalski. The older penguin quickly side-stepped him and pushed him over, chiding him, "_Toxin_, Private, that means do not touch in simple terms."

It was a bit of a slap in the face, but it did feel good to have Kowalski back again chastising him for his error in action. "Oh right, sorry!" He brushed himself off and stood up, his eyes catching the graphical depiction that inhabited the wall leading to their home. "Oh, Kowalski, what about this then? What do you s'pose it means?" He leaned over, fingering the little suspended penguin figure, tracing it with his flipper then leading the ligament towards the dark specter.

With the goop still on the tip of his flipper, he waddled over and started uncertain. He finally shrugged, much as with the rest of the figures in resignation. "There's not much to make of it, not yet. It could mean anything."

"That figure doesn't remind you of Skipper at all though? The little one in the air, I mean?"

Kowalski's beak turned downward into a frown, still unsure of the artwork. "Well, it could be any of us. But if Hans was after Skipper, it would make sense that he drew him. As for the black ghost, it could just be Hans trying to spook us. He _is_ a villain, Private."

Private still wasn't sure, but it did make sense. Though it left him unsettled they agreed to start working on their newest piece in the puzzle of Skipper's illness, returning to the headquarters in mutual cheerfulness over their accomplishment.


	6. First Contact

Chapter Five:

First Contact

Nothing shook the feeling that had been steadily creeping into his stomach. Private knew in his heart that the little figure has been their leader. It was easy to brush it off at first, but now every bone throughout his body screamed for him to accept that this was no coincidence. Kowalski's research with the chimps hadn't made him feel any better, either. Kowalski was able to confirm that the writings were written in some ancient language—something Latin American from the looks of it. It gave Private goose bumps all over his wing feathers as he thought about it.

He sat up, looking around the dark bunker they called home as he breathed in another sleepless night. The air was thicker than normal, tasting like a mixture of summer moisture and heat, and the rotten sewer smell that seemed to hang over New York like a rain cloud. He exhaled, letting go of the city, and keeping his thoughts to himself as he slid down the ladder towards the cold hard concrete that lay below him. As his webbed feet collided against the smooth surface, he felt for an instant his spirit joined with the earth, reminding him of his mortality.

His eyes lifted from the ground, falling on his accomplished leader who lay in the center of their headquarters. Tubing ran all around him now, an IV drip they stole to keep him hydrated but was much too long for them to use lay coiled up and twisted around the penguin. Another one to feed in nourishment to his quickly deteriorating body came from the other side, this one slightly shorter but still much too long for the small creature wrapped around a little hook under the table they'd propped him on and sat underneath him.

Not being able to withstand his own deeply wounded spirit, Private breathed another silent promise to him as he made his escape away from the wonderful memories that brought tears to his eyes, and started to slide down his crescent shaped beak. He couldn't escape the feeling that no matter what happened, things would never be the same again. But he would fight it. Just like Skipper taught him to.

He pushed away every feeling and thought from his mind as he pulled himself up the skinny ladder that led to freedom, freedom from pain and guilt and all these things he still couldn't understand. One by one as the rungs ran underneath his flippers and propelled him towards the sweet night air, he knew that he would soon be under the shadows of the night, hidden from all the truths that were too big for him to handle right now. Even though they were too big, he hoped with all his heart that soon he could handle all of the things that were too big. Skipper leaving them, leaving him here, expecting them to be able to handle all of this important-ness without him. Private wasn't used to being counted on, it was painful and overwhelming. He was one miniscule penguin, too small to make any threats or commands like Skipper could. For some reason he was now the one who had to be big though, bigger than himself. He hated it, and he prayed to the stars that hung over his southern home that he could handle all of the bigness that was overtaking him.

Fresh. That's the smell that overwhelmed him as he reached the top of their headquarters. The water lapped against their concrete iceberg as he pivot his webbed feet, canvassing his surroundings. He was never worried about it before, Skipper had always watched out for him. He knew that even if he was careless, his leader would be there to help him, see things he wouldn't, be paranoid enough for the both of them. He was becoming more paranoid by the day though, every sound and whisper sending chills down him as he whispered in hopes that he could handle it. Breathing in the night air, he slowly relaxed as he felt the peace of the night overcome him.

It was a mistake though. A mistake he knew he would make more than he could afford. Relaxation was for infants, for the weak and the taken care of. He shook his slick black feathers, eyes narrowing as he spun around. Something had moved, not much but just enough for his peripheral sight to pick up on it.

There it moved again! Black shadows, too fast for him to catch. Private froze in terror, his breathing grinding to a stalling halt as he recognized the feeling, the presence it brought with him. His heart pounded as he tried to make his feet move, one in front of the other, but they refused to listen.

"_Priiiiiiiiiiiivaaaaate…."_

It was whispering his name! _His name!_ The chubby bird felt his heart stop, his muscles tensed as he prepared for the feeling that would surely come. He grimaced as the shadow moved again, wincing in preparation for the sure attack.

"_Play with me….Speak to me…."_ It cried.

"N-no thanks, I'll have none of that," He said, his voice cracking and not as sure as he wanted it to be. He checked himself as he slowly regained some of the confidence that he had lost in the moment of terror. He fixed his eyes on the image that was blurrily moving across the sky, too fast to make out any sort of shape other than a phantom-like appearance. The only thing he was sure of was the eyes, beady and red, staring back into his soul. He wondered if this is what happened, why Skipper had been so weak.

No! Privates own mind shouted back at itself. Skipper would never be so weak as to fall to an enemy purely out of intimidation. There had to be more, he knew it.

"_Priiiiiiiiivaaaaaate…"_

"Alright, what do want then? Get on with it!" He cried, locking his knees and bending forward, ready to fight.

"_Tell him… Goodbye."_

As quickly as the presence had appeared, it left, vanishing in the night air not to be seen or heard. Private stayed there, too stunned to move. Tell him goodbye? Suddenly, the implications of what he said screamed inside him, and he dove down the pseudo-manhole that covered their base.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Skipper still lying there, chest still moving up and down. How the twisted figure in the night would have been able to get in there or hurt him he didn't know, but for some reason it still sent shivers down him. Private released his flippers from the clenched fists they had been formed into and turned back to his bed, ready to attempt more sleep.

"_Priiiiiiiiiiivaaaaaaaaate...Goodnight."_

His heart stopped as a flash of smoke filled the headquarters, and his vision went dark.


End file.
